


The Radar Prince

by AtlinMerrick



Series: Binary Stars: Techienician [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Have I mentioned how much I love these characters?, M/M, Matt is not Kylo Ren!, Techienician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt the Radar Technician is big and people, well some people expect big men to shout and push and take. What they don't expect is for such men to have big, big hearts.</p><p>But Clan Techie does. After all, he has Matt's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Radar Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221b_hound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/gifts).



Matt the radar technician is a scavenger.

When you live on a Concordance-class Star Cruiser, a peace-keeping ship not much shy of two miles long and full up with 18,000 civilians and 60,000 military, you'll find there's a lot to scavenge.

Because where people have been, _things_ are. Half a dozen cream-laden cupcakes in an otherwise bare-empty mess hall; a star knife in the fresher of a just-vacated bedroom; lost tools, datapads, hologames gathering dust behind bulkheads.

Every little thing he finds, Matt brings home to Techie, who makes inquisitive sounds over some, curious tongue clicks over others and, juuust sometimes, high noises of delight. Those are the sounds Mattie lives for and they're the ones that keep him roaming the _Accord_ on the long nights his sweetheart works late. Can you scavenge love, hunt delight? Can you? Matt the radar technician thinks you can.

Matt is a mountain.

People expect big men to be _big,_ expect them to shout and push and take. Matt's never been like that, but he _can_ be. Take something from him and Matt will take it back, leaving behind bruises and tears if necessary, though that never gives him pleasure. What Matt's much better at is being a mountain in the way of small men and women who want something that's not theirs. In those cases, Matt's very good at going still, a willful wall, standing his massive ground.

Matt is a pup.

He's got quite the nose, does Matt. It's big, plainly put, and like an inquisitive pup the man makes use of the thing, pushing it here there everywhere. He sniffs at their dinner left-overs to pronounce them good, huffs at a console to diagnose a burned-out fuse. But the best uses to which Matt puts that nose is in bed, when he buries it under Techie's arms after he comes, rubbing his face in the musk-sweet sweat. Used to years of being wrong, Techie surrenders utterly to this small, sweet world in which everything about him is _right._ His sweaty armpits, his come-slick arse, Matt has at all of him, poking between and under and _in_ with that fine big nose until Techie's laughing or moaning or, good-better-best, doing both.

Matt is a prince.

Matt hadn't meant to discover Clan Techie's box of baubles. Their quarters are crowded though, and Matt's forever shifting things to get at other things, so one day in moving a box he didn't recognize, he opened it. Inside he found bits of ribbon onto which were sewn pearls, found gems and chains with little charms, found pots of face paint. He called, "Baby, is this yours?" while poking a big finger through the precious pretties.

Techie standing wide-eyed in their bedroom doorway, pulling gracelessly at his own fingers, was all the reply Matt needed. Instead of reassuring, Matt _reacted._ Opening a pot of gold paint and dabbing some on his lips he asked softly, "Is this how?"

Techie was kneeling with Matt in front of their closet a second later, wiping the shadow from Matt's lips with his t-shirt cuff and tutting, "That's for your eyes." Techie then proceeded to do Mattie up right.

It took a long and patient while, and when his Technician was done Matt looked—there are no other words for it—god damn _regal._ A web of tiny black pearls weaved through his grown-long and loosely braided hair, gold and black paint dotted his eyelids and cheeks, while blood red and black scarves shot through with faux gems wrapped high up his naked forearms.

Matt stood before the mirror—he sees fine without his glasses if he's close—and looked at his own face and he listened as Techie whispered giddily, "Look at you. Look. So pretty. You could be a prince Mattie, people would kneel in front of you."

Then Techie did.

Finally, Matt is a lover.

Oh sure his hair is the funny sort of yellow that looks kind of fake, his glasses are too big for his face, he's got moles all over, a big, wide mouth and sometimes the stilted grace of a Gorryl slug. Yet the strange-not-strange thing about all of that is, when combined into one person, these are charms so powerful that one man—his own hair a shock of red, his own skin so very pale—loves Matt to the point of distraction.

That feeling is more than mutual and Matt has dozens of ways to give voice to this love. From _baby_ to _sweetheart, angel_ to _light,_ he croons endearments into Techie's panting mouth when they're both on the edge, paints the words onto his skin with lips and tongue. In Techie's navel he kisses _precious,_ beneath his arms he licks _my love,_ and into Techie's soft and pretty ass Matt pokes _beautiful,_ and _mine_ and _perfect_ until both of them are moaning.

When, the next morning, Techie clamors onto Matt's sleep-chilly body, they hug each other close, dozy with the combined warmth for a long, suspended time. When next he wakes Techie's making soft grunting sounds in his ear, until Matt guides himself into his already-slicked love.

Afterward they breathe awhile, until Matt starts his pre-work ritual of complaint: about clean clothes, impossible schedules, pointless calibrations tests, until finally he's bolstered enough to roll out of bed, yawning and reaching for Techie as he mumbles, "Shower?"

Today Techie tugs on underwear and pants and smiling, he says, "No. I want you in me. All day I want your come in me."

Matt, the Radar Prince of sector B, stands naked in their fresher doorway, blink-blinking, flush-faced and kind-of scratching as Techie's come dries itchy on his belly, and Matt knows that of all the many things he is, he's absolutely one thing most of all:

He is done for.

For this ginger-haired man with the big eyes and the bigger heart, Matt is well and truly done for.

Thank the gods.

_This chapter is for 221b_hound, who made me want to make Mattie a prince and who loves these boys as much as I do. Thank you, lovely one, thank you. P.S. Because I'm sentimental I made sure Matt's chapter is 991 words, exactly as long as[Techie's](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7308493)._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AtlinMerrick) if you'd like to wander over...


End file.
